This Loneliness won't Last for Long
by coinoperatedbecca
Summary: [AU, follows my multichaptered fics]. It was all a game of waiting.


A/N: So, I really wanted to write something, but I was facing a little backlog with And Some of Us Are Damned (don't worry, though, I'll find my mojo soon!). I was thinking about how in my weird little universe I had Atticus and Jean wait for years before they got married, and this kind of popped into my head. It's a little rough since I wrote it fairly quickly, but I thought it was kinda cute haha. (Also, my other one-shots don't follow the same plot as my multi-chaptered fics, but I felt like this was a nice exception).

-o-o-o-

"You're never going to keep her," Caroline had said smoothly as she adjusted her hat to block her eyes from the sun. Atticus merely gazed at his youngest sister, a small smile playing on his face.

"Keep who, exactly?" He responded as Alexandra flashed them both looks of warning, causing Jack to roll his eyes at all three of them. It was the Finch family reunion, otherwise known as the time when Alexandra attempted to show distant cousins and people she hardly even knew just how perfect Finch Landing was and just how perfect the Finch family was.

"You know who I'm talkin' about." Caroline said seriously, scowling at him. "Jean." Cue another harsh look from Alexandra and a loud bout of laughter from Jack.

"And why's that?"

Caroline crossed her arms. "Honey, she isn't even here! You left her in Montgomery rather than introducin' her to the whole family."

"We barely talk to half of these people. She'll meet—"

"She'll meet the important ones at the wedding, huh?" Caroline teased, smirking. "I don't think you want to marry her."

Out of all of his siblings, Atticus was the calm one. The one who wasn't quick to anger and never let anyone notice when he was agitated. However, as he sat up, he found himself growing warm with the unfamiliar feeling of irritation. "This is not the place," he heard Alexandra hiss from besides him, and from the corner of his eye he could see Jack shaking his head almost gleefully.

"Why is that?" He found himself asking.

"Atticus," Alexandra began, her face flushing.

"You've been engaged for nearly a year and a half and you're in no rush to set a date for the weddin'. You've got cold feed but you just don't wanna tell her." Caroline said quickly. "I wouldn't be surprised if she was fool—"

"Don't talk about her." He was clenching his teeth. He was quite certain that Alexandra was murderous.

"I'm sorry," Caroline said, though she didn't seem to mean it. "Honey, you better treat her good because it looks like you got yourself a saint."

-o-o-o-

Her funeral had been beautiful. Well, as beautiful as something so desperately distressing could be.

He was on solid land, but he felt like he was drowning. Maudie had told him that once you lose your spouse, missing them would come in overwhelming waves, almost out of nowhere. But for him it was constant. It was the constant pain of wanting her, of missing her, of _needing_ her. Each morning when he woke up he was convinced she was next to him and he would have five seconds of peace, five seconds of normalcy.

But she wasn't there. She would never be there.

Atticus Finch was a man of logic. A man who thought rationally. But, once she was gone he found it was difficult to think straight. Who ever heard of a thirty-two year old dying of a heart attack? Her sister had died at thirty-three. Her father at barely forty. His father before him at thirty-seven.

He found himself angry at a man he never met, and never would meet. He was angry at a man who had a bad heart and gave that heart to his ancestors. It wasn't logical and knew it and yet he was angry and hurt by this man who barely knew his children. Who had a son who would never see his daughters grow up, and then those daughters left _their_ children behind, never to fully know a mother's love.

His house was full, yet he felt alone. His brother slept in the chair in the office, his sisters slept together in the guest room and his sister-in-law (now the oldest of Graham girls) slept on his couch. His children slept safely in their rooms. Across the street was his other sister-in-law and his mother-in-law and her sisters. They cared for the children, they cared for him. But nothing would fill the hole she left.

In the time after her passing, he sought Louise. It was strange for him to think that just months ago they had been teasing one another when he was in Montgomery, and now they could hardly speak. That was probably why he sought her company above everyone else's. She didn't fill the silence with awkward conversation, she didn't give him false assurances. Her grief was raw, like his, and he didn't need to hide it.

"I shouldn't have made her wait," he said one night as she rocked Jean Louise to sleep. He couldn't help but to notice that he no longer sounded like himself. He sounded like a sad man. Puzzled, she looked up at him. "I shouldn't have made Jean wait."

"Wait for what?" She asked softly, looking up from the sleeping toddler in her arms.

"To marry me," he whispered, feeling foolish. This wasn't like him. "I should've married her right away, I should've had all the time I possibly could with her."

She gave him a small smile, but it looked more like she was grimacing. "No one knew this would happen."

"Even if she were alive…" He started, sighing to himself as he looked at the ground. "It was awfully cruel of me."

"You weren't cruel back then, but you're bein' awfully cruel to yourself right now." She said dryly as she absent-mindedly patted the baby on the back.

"She could've had anyone, she could've—"

"She wanted _you_." Louise said, sitting up. The bags under her eyes were deep purple from both exhaustion and grief and she looked tired, but her eyes were lively. Intently, she stared at him with a determined look that Jean often gave him and he found the breath caught in his throat. "She would wait her entire life for you, she loved you that much. If given the chance, she would do it over again—waiting and everything."

-o-o-o-

"Let's get married now," he said eagerly. Almost too eagerly. It had been nearly a month since he had last seen her, and now he was in Montgomery for a week for the legislature. She had nearly jumped in his arms when she met him at the train station and since then he found that time was passing all too quickly for him. It also happened to be a week since he'd seen Caroline at the reunion, and what she had said still resonated in his head.

She had laughed at his suggestion, probably thinking it was a joke. Her nose scrunched up each time she laughed, and he loved it. He wanted to make her laugh every day. "I thought you didn't like to drink, Mr. Finch." She said teasingly.

"I don't… what does that—"

"You're talkin' nonsense."

"What do you mean?"

"You don't want to marry me now," she smirked, setting herself down on a bench. In fact, it was the same bench he proposed to her at. When he was in Montgomery, much of their time was spent walking around the city, just the two of them.

"I most certainly do." He said, feeling stung as he eased next to her. She laughed again.

Abruptly, she stopped laughing. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings." She said, kissing his cheek.

"You didn't," he said, though he was certain part of him was lying.

"What's in your mind?" She asked, propping her elbows on her knees and resting her chin in her hands. She smiled at him, her brown eyes shining fiercely.

"Nothing."

"You never aren't thinking about _something_." She said matter-of-factly. "You would go crazy if there was nothin' on your mind."

"I'm thinking about how I want to marry you." He replied.

"Well, luckily for you I want to marry you too." She smirked.

"I mean now," he said as she sat up, crossing her arms against her chest. "I wouldn't mind if we went to some courthouse tomorrow and—"

"No," she said smoothly, her eyes still shining at him though her smile was gone.

"What?"

"You're wrong, you would mind."

"I just said I wouldn't."

"You're lyin'."

"How do you know that?"

"I think you're tired, you're bein' silly."

"I didn't realize that wanting to marry you was—"

"You're bein' impulsive, you're not impulsive."

"I've taken careful thought and consideration—"

"You still want to wait."

"I just said I didn't."

"Who said what about me?" She asked, the smirk returning to her face though her eyes looked sad. "Is that Ms. Crawford so bored she's spreadin' rumors about me all the way from—"

"Of course she isn't—"

"Then who is?"

"Why is it hard for you to believe that I want to marry you now?"

"You didn't have this sense of urgency the last time I saw you. You were quite fine with waitin'." A small frown began to form on her face. "Do you not trust me?"

"Well don't _you_ want to get married now?" He asked, wondering if she was feeling apprehensive like Caroline assumed.

"I don't think it's right to answer a question with a question, Mr. Finch." She retorted.

"Why are you callin' me that?"

"You're not actin' like the logical man I fell in love with," she responded quickly. "You still haven't answered my question."

"Of course I trust you." He said, quickly grabbing her hand. He supposed he grabbed it too tightly because he felt her stiffen. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

She rested her head on his shoulder, and he could feel her chuckling. "You're awfully silly, sweet."

"Why?"

"We both know what would happen if you married me tomorrow." She said, the playful smile returning to her face.

"I won't miss you anymore."

"You'll grow to despise me."

Quickly, he turned himself to look at her, feeling quite perplexed. He had hoped she was joking, but she was entirely serious. "I could never do that." He said quickly. "I _love_ you—"

"If you marry me before you're ready, you'll be bound to hate me eventually." She said seriously, resting her hand on top of his. "You shouldn't rush because some fool is leaving you with the impression that I am impatient."

"I won't ever despise you." He said, a hint of bitterness in his voice. "But I suppose I'm fine with not getting married tomorrow."

She smiled, almost triumphantly and he couldn't help but to smile back at her. She scrunched her nose like she did when she laughed and kissed him. "That fool, by the way, was my sister."

She laughed and rolled her eyes. "Alexandra doesn't like me much anyway."

He furrowed his brow, but decided that he would address that at a different time. Instead, he kissed her.

And they would wait.

-o-o-o-

He found himself angry at that stranger again nearly ten years after Jean's heart failed her.

Jeremey, his baby boy, nearly met the same fate as his mother.

He was sixteen and in the prime of his high school career. He did well in school, played football excellently and had a kind heart. But, it was his mother's heart.

When it seemed as though his son had dropped dead on the football field that October evening, Atticus was quite certain that _he_ himself was going to die. He had never once thought about the possibility of losing his son, the bright eyed boy who looked so like his mother, and the fact that it could happen scared Atticus more than anything.

But, through some miracle, Jem lived.

Atticus had been there when they used the electric paddles to revive his son. It looked barbaric and he was almost certain that the shock alone would kill Jem, but they brought him back. After nearly two minutes, his heart began beating again.

He would most likely never be able to play football again, and would have to take a slew of medications for the rest of his life, but at least Atticus had his son.

However, when Jeremy became reclusive, spending increasing amounts of time in his room and barely talking to anyone in his family, Atticus thought that maybe he _was_ losing Jem. And then he became angry at that man. That man he never met but who gave his descendants _that_ heart.

Jem's isolation became a new normal for his father. Frequently, Jem and Scout would hide out in his room with the door shut. If he tried, Atticus could hear them murmuring to one another from behind the door. But he always had terrible hearing, so he never knew what they were saying. Instead of asking, he just let them be. They were still alive, after all. Unlike Jean they could find their way back to him.

He would just have to wait.

"Atticus," Jem's unexpected voice from the doorway caused Atticus to jump. "I'm sorry." He added quickly.

"No, no," Atticus responded as he smiled at his son. "I'm just gettin' old."

"You've been sayin' that since I was a kid." Jem said, chuckling to himself. His eyes shone like his mother's.

"It gets truer every day, son."

Jem smiled, and Atticus couldn't help but to feel relieved. It had been _so long_ since he saw his son smile. If he looked long enough, it almost looked like Jean's.

"I saw her," Jem said, his voice slightly unsteady.

"Who, son?"

Jem swallowed, and looked at the ground as he muttered something. "I didn't hear you," his father said, his smile growing slightly. "It seems I'm older than I think."

"Mama," Jem said quickly, his voice firm though he still looked at the ground.

"That's not possible," Atticus said slowly.

"Well, I did." Jem said, finally looking up at his father. "When I almost died. I saw her before they brought me back."

"You were deprived of air, your heart stopped beating," Atticus responded logically. "You probably were just reactin'—"

"I _saw_ her. I can prove it." He said, crossing his arms.

"Well then, prove it son." Atticus said.

"She told me things," Jem said, swallowing. "She told me that I could stay with her or go back to you and Scout…and she told me to tell you it's your turn to wait. I don't—"

"What?"

"She said it was—"

"I heard you, I'm sorry." Atticus said, taken aback. He wasn't one to believe in these things, but why else would Jem say that?

"A-Atticus, are you alright?"

"I'm fine,"

"You don't look it."

"I'm surprised, that's all."

"What did she mean by that?" He asked. "I've been tryin' to figure it out."

"It's nothin'." Atticus responded, giving him a nervous smile. "Don't worry about it."

"Do you believe me?"

"I believe you." Jem looked relieved, his smile returned to his face.

That night, as he lay in bed he looked at a snapshot of his wife. It was one Louise had given the children to share, but he secretly took it over a year ago. "Why can't _I_ see you?" He asked her.

And he would wait.

-o-o-o-

Four years later, he was _really_ ready to marry her. He wasn't sure what made him decide, but one morning he woke up and the weight of wanting her next to him was so heavy he knew he was ready.

He only hoped she was, too.

He discarded his work for the day, and left for Montgomery on a Wednesday morning. He would surprise her, show up when she least expected it and tell her he was ready. He wanted her—he _needed_ her and he wouldn't be making her wait any longer.

He was ready, and it turned out that so was she.

They got married in March, outside in Montgomery. It was unusually cold and everyone in attendance was unprepared for the chill, but he was so warm with bubbling excitement that he hardly even noticed. He had his father's pocket watch, and she wore the dress that every woman in her family had worn for nearly thirty years. The smile on her face was so big that it made her nose scrunch just the way he loved and he found that he had never been happier in his life. It was perfect, and he couldn't ask for anything more.

Especially because neither of them had to wait anymore.

-o-o-o-

He was nearly seventy-six. His rheumatism hurt, he barely had use of his hands and found that he had to give up his law practice to Jem once it became too painful to even walk.

Yet, he was still alive.

It had been nearly twenty-eight years since she had died. Twenty-eight years and he was still waiting. She _always_ loved to tease him and he figured that this was the ultimate joke of hers. She was going to keep him waiting as long as she saw fit.

He wasn't alone, though he might as well be. As he grew older, his thoughts gravitated more towards Jean and less towards actually living. He had lived enough, he figured. His children were grown. Jem was successfully managing the law firm and had gotten married while Jean Louise was absolutely thriving in New York. They didn't need him, not anymore. They had their own lives, they had become successful adults. His job was done.

Yet, she was still making him wait.

He still had that old snapshot he took from the children. Despite the fact that he had many more, this one was his favorite. She couldn't have been more than nineteen at the time it was taken. She looked just the way he loved to remember her. Her hair was askew and her eyes were wild joy and she had a big, nose-scrunching smile on her face. She was perfect, just as he remembered her.

When his children grew up and moved out, and he found that the companionship of his siblings wasn't enough to fulfill what he really wanted, he would talk to her picture in the sanctuary of his bedroom. He had long since moved out of the house they had first lived in together, and this new one seemed cold and not like home. He would tell her about it, how she would hate this house and what had become of Maycomb in the years following her death. He would ask her to take him.

But nearly thirty years had passed, and he was still waiting.

Late one September night, he eased himself into bed as usual and looked at her picture. He told her goodnight and that he loved her and put the picture on his nightstand. And, yet…

"I can see you," he whispered, smiling to himself. "I can _feel_ you."

And he didn't have to wait anymore.


End file.
